


Slow Burn

by eyemeohmy



Category: Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Bad end, Gen, Gore, Squick, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-11
Packaged: 2018-03-22 08:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3721831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyemeohmy/pseuds/eyemeohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cliffjumper has no nose, but still managed to put it in business he never should have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Burn

**Author's Note:**

> Giftfic for my friend, Java.
> 
> Kind of mixes G1 aspects with TFA.
> 
> Oh, by the way: I am currently doing commissions. Check it out: http://vividambrosia.tumblr.com/post/114992514458/vividambrosia-its-that-time-again-commissions

The first thing Cliffjumper woke to was the bright, almost burning white lights.

The apertures of his optics collapsed into pinpricks as they adjusted. Cliffjumper groaned, turning his head away. The lights were blinding. He weakly ran a diagnostic scan on his system, vaguely realizing he was… laying on the floor?

His HUD reported no significant damage. Just a bump to the back of his head. Cliffjumper blinked. According to his chronometer, he’d been unconscious for almost twenty minutes. But the last thing he remembered was sitting at his desk, looking into someone’s file.

Someone's name he couldn't recall. Nor could he remember _why_ he was looking through it in the first place.

Cliffjumper felt a twist in his tanks. Something was very wrong. He cursed internally–- _you’ve been awake three minutes, and you’re just_ now _figuring that out?_ Grunting, Cliffjumper pushed himself onto his elbows, then one hand at a time. He winced as his digits brushed something--different texture than the rest of the floor. Like… glass?

The Minibot looked over. He withdrew his hand, beneath a spherical hole in the ground covered by aforementioned glass casing. Inches away, another–-and another and another and another, and Cliffjumper finally took a good look at his surroundings.

Aside from the floor being covered in these sealed holes, Cliffjumper appeared to be in some sort of containment unit. There were four walls: two glass, two gunmetal steel. Cliffjumper shielded his optics as he looked up; the lights shone through a translucent ceiling. There weren’t any visible doors, but a large seam across the ceiling, running down the middle; probably the only way in and out of this cube.

“The frag is going on?” Cliffjumper cursed. He crossed the cube, looking out one glass wall. His cell was in a much larger room, seemingly empty, shadows thick and masking any doors or windows. He felt his temper rise with the heat on his chassis. It was getting warm in here. “Who’s there!?” he shouted, banging on the wall. “I know someone’s there!” Because someone knocked him out and dumped him in this little box. Surely they were watching him.

There was no response, however, and Cliffjumper’s optics blazed from anger to rage. “Let me out, you scrap-eating lube-sucking turbo-mouse!” he screamed, violently punching and slamming his fists against the wall. They bounced off harmlessly; this wasn’t ordinary glass, but something much thicker and reinforced. Cliffjumper stepped back, hoisted and thrust his boot against the wall--not even a scratch. “You fraggin’ cowards! Show yourselves!” he barked, bashing his pauldron against the wall now.

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to speak up, dear Cliffjumper. The walls are very thick; most of what you’re saying is just muffled nonsense.”

Cliffjumper froze, optics widening in their sockets. He recognized that voice, and it came clear as a bell in his cell. He watched, both confused and horrified, as a figure emerged from the shadows. Not completely, no, only parts of him at a time, like someone casually walking through a wall of paint, peeling it back, shaping it into a humanoid figure...

Visible--they were turning visible. And the only mech Cliffjumper knew who could do that...

Cliffjumper’s teeth grit, glaring at Mirage. “ _You_ …” he hissed, fingers balling into shaky fists.

Mirage casually strolled over to the cell, the rest of his body reappearing. He smiled, optics half-lidded. “Welcome back, Cliffjumper,” he said. That smile turned into something sad--mocking. “But not for very long, I’m afraid.”

Cliffjumper slapped his open palms on the wall. “Why did you put me in here!?” he demanded.

Mirage cupped one audiol fin, bending forward elegantly. “Mm? I told you, you must speak up–-”

“ _Let me out, you treacherous rat_!” Cliffjumper screamed, _loud_.

Mirage winced and stepped back. “Now that was a little uncalled for,” he huffed. “But I’m afraid you know the answer. Why you’re here, that is.”

Cliffjumper glowered.

“You were right,” Mirage said smugly, and Cliffjumper’s optics lit up. “Very keen senses you have. You know, you should have considered a job as a P.I. with those detective skills of yours. I made sure to clean up after myself _impeccably_ and yet you still caught my trail and sniffed me out.”

Cliffjumper growled. “It _was_ you, then! The one responsible for the Polyhex-–!”

Mirage raised a finger to his lips, silencing the now frothing Minibot. “We both know, now. It does not bear worth repeating. Also…” Mirage strolled along the wall, and Cliffjumper followed, and even with all those layers of plexi-glass between them, Mirage still felt the enraged Autobot could bust through. “As we both know, you’re not one for conversation. Shoot first, ask questions later. So I won’t bore you with the details. I will say, however, you did shake up my contact a little. Enough that he stopped me mid-assignment to take care of you.”

“Take care of me?” Cliffjumper snapped.

Mirage bobbed his head. “You know too much. And, unfortunately, you must die.” Cliffjumper looked shocked, but more so pissed. “I did try to reason with my contact, but… Well. I’m lower on the chain of command to him. Must do as ordered, you see. You’re all about loyalty to the cause, too.”

“You let me out of here, you _sick freak_!”

Mirage stepped back, opening a panel on his arm. He removed a small remote. “I also know that when it comes to your enemies, you are merciless. You’ve no pity for the wrong-doers, and would prefer to see them suffer.” He showed the remote to Cliffjumper. “It seems only fair I continue honoring your death with the same attitude you have for traitors and criminals.”

Cliffjumper blinked, stepping back. “What–what are you planning, Mirage?” he asked.

Mirage leered. “You’ve been a bad bot, Cliffjumper,” he hummed, punching a blue button, “and now you must be punished.”

Cliffjumper jumped as the glass casings on the holes on the floor retracted. Something rumbled beneath his feet. He looked to Mirage, standing casual, waiting with a pleased gleam in his optic.

There was a squelching sound, like that of running water. Suddenly, pink fluid bubbled from the holes in the ground. Little by little. Cliffjumper backed away from each one, doing a little dance, avoiding stepping into the fluid. However, his leg twisted, bottom of his boot stepping into one of the puddles.

Cluffjumper screamed intense, utter pain as the acid burned through his boot. Soon the entire floor was covered in an inch worth’s layer of acid. Cliffjumper had nowhere to go. He ran across the cell, screaming as armor was eaten away, down to the dermal plating beneath his pede. He dashed over to Mirage, punching the walls. “ _Get me out! Get me out now!_ ” he shrieked.

The acid was rising. Soon it was up to his ankles, and in a matter of minutes, his ankles were now disintegrated plating; rotten, punctured, melting armor, chewing and tearing and ripping and dissolving circuits and cables and pumps. He tried to scream again only to stop to stare in horror at the rest of his boot snap and fall like a dead thing from the circuits holding them together.

More and more acid filled the room. Mirage watched, unaffected, if not a little amused. Cliffjumper’s legs were shreds hanging on melting, popping struts, the acid eating away into mesh and inner-mechanisms. His knee cracked and Cliffjumper ignored the rest of leg sinking to the bottom of the pit.

The only way out was the seam along the ceiling. He waded through the abdomen high acid; each stroke peeled off armor and plating and circuits, cutting out pieces of him little by little. He tried disabling his pain receptors, but it wasn’t enough-–he had to keep going. Pressed to a steel wall, he grabbed on, weakly and pathetically attempting to climb up its smooth surface.

“Admirable,” Mirage said, “but you won’t make it. Not in your condition.”

“Stop it!” Cliffjumper snarled, choking up energon. Coolant welled in his optics, all color drained. “My body–!”

“That’s enough.”

Cliffjumper froze, too terrified to move, lest risking losing more of his body. The pink fluid was now red and purple from his dissolved plating, and only small clumps of his armor remained, bobbing and floating at the surface. “Let… let me out…” he coughed weakly. More metal was stripped down his remaining leg; his pede was nothing but a gnarled ball punctured with holes.

“Just enough to fill without spilling over,” Mirage hummed. He hit the double yellow buttons, and Cliffjumper gasped as the floor shook, acid shimmered, and the steel walls groaned. He instinctively stumbled back–-the steel doors were closing, pushing him toward the center. The acid rose with it, reaching Cliffjumper’s arms, melting into the seams and peripheral circuits. Two fingers clumped off, rocked along the wavy surface.

“You– You slaggin’–-” Cliffjumper coughed and hacked before he finally vomited up the remains in his tanks. A hole in his tank drained the rest, and unprocessed energon temporarily streaked across the surface like oil before disappearing. He grabbed at his spark chamber, attempting to use his free hand and remains of one leg to push the walls back. He was too weak; they were closing in now, closer, closer, and the acid was almost up to his neck. A cable popped, splashing energon across his face. He glowered hatefully at Mirage. “You sick–-" 

The words were cut as acid slipped into his mouth, down his throat. Split his tongue in half and melted away his vocalizer until only guttural, inhumane static noises were left. An optic popped from his skull, wet nerve-circuits whipping the air; it fell into the acid with a small _plop_ , sinking halfway before dissolving.

"Really such a tragedy,” Mirage sighed. He watched Cliffjumper’s jaw and nose disappear beneath the acid. His optic rolled back into his head. He was uncomfortably squished between the walls. “Really, such a pity.” Shaking his head, he listened to Cliffjumper’s one last, pathetic attempt at a cry as the walls slammed shut, crushing what hadn’t dissolved or melted with four heavy _crunches_.

Mirage waited a moment before hitting the two yellow buttons, then the blue. The walls retracted, acid swirling and disappearing down the drains.

Something loud and heavy hit the wet floor.

—--

Blurr was just about to do his rounds when he was stopped, seeing a fellow officer. Looking a little… weird.

“Hey Mirage my mech what up everything okay you look a little off hope you’re not sick!” Blurr exclaimed, rushing to his side in a second flat.

Mirage shrugged. “It’s been a long day,” he said.

Blurr nodded. He spotted the strange round object tucked beneath Mirage’s right arm. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at it from four angles.

Mirage looked at the object. “Garbage I need throwing out.” He paused and stopped. “Blurr,” he said, smiling, “you run by the incinerator on the way out, right?”

Blurr nodded. “Ya want me to throw this out for you I can do that no problem won’t take any time!” he sneered.

Mirage nodded and offered him the object.

Blurr took it, and was surprised by its shape. “Like some mutated spark chamber holy wow it’s ugly,” he snorted.

“Some old debris, that’s all,” Mirage chuckled, swishing a hand. “Just make sure it gets to the incinerator, if you please.”

Blurr nodded and saluted, object tucked under arm. “Right away right away!” And then he was gone in a flash of blue.

Mirage sighed. “I would have kept it,” he said, regarding Cliffjumper’s spark chamber. He shrugged. “But it’s just not as pretty without the spark inside. Oh, well.”

Mirage headed off to report to his superior, a skip in his stride, whistling happily.


End file.
